


Paper Angels

by actress4Him



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Christmas Shopping, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Foster Kid Keith (Voltron), Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Keith & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Lance (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Pre-Canon, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Sad with a Happy Ending, Very brief and vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27964844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actress4Him/pseuds/actress4Him
Summary: Somebody had picked his wish. Somebody, some random stranger, had seen that a teenage foster kid wanted a pair of Jordans, and decided to spend their own money to buy them for him.It didn’t make sense. Nothing in his six years of being in the foster system had proved to him that there were people out there who would do such a thing.But someone had. And he was getting Jordans for Christmas.————————————————Leave it to me to make a Christmas story angsty. The first, pre-canon half is sad, but the second, post-canon half is happy. Featuring people both crappy and kind, with Lance falling into the latter category.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 111





	Paper Angels

**Author's Note:**

> So, I’m in the middle of writing at least 2 other things right now, but this idea came to me a few days ago after reading a post from a child welfare volunteer (who says yes, stuff like the sad part of this story DOES actually happen in real life), and couldn’t get it out of my head. I was also inspired by the awesome book “What Child is This” by Caroline B. Cooney.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

He didn’t want to do the stupid angel ornament thing to start with. It was bad enough that he had to rely on different strangers every few weeks or months to house him and provide all his necessities...well,  _ all  _ if he was lucky. Now they wanted him to ask some  _ other  _ random stranger to buy Christmas gifts for him? No, thank you. 

But his social worker, Abby, was sitting in a chair across from him with the stupid paper ornament laying on top of her ever-present notebook, a pen poised in her hand, ready to write down his “wish”. And she looked  _ happy.  _ Hopeful, even, like this one thing, this stupid wish on a paper ornament, would be the thing that would turn his pathetic life around. Like maybe if he got exactly what he wanted for Christmas, he’d stop taking out his anger on everyone around him, and then he wouldn’t get kicked out of every single foster home she placed him in.

It was ridiculously optimistic of her. That was Abby, though, always ridiculously optimistic. Most days it got on Keith’s last nerve.

But she was one of the good ones, and those didn’t come around very often. If it had been his last social worker sitting there - his last two or three social workers, in fact - he would have told them to jump in a lake. Now, though, the expectant smile on her face was wearing him down. Making him want to actually come up with a wish to put on the stupid ornament. 

Even after all these years of doing nothing but, Keith still hated disappointing people.

Shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his ratty hoodie, he leaned back into the couch cushions. “I dunno what to ask for.”

“Something you need, maybe?” Gina, his foster mom of two weeks, prompted from her spot on the couch next to him. “Clothes? School supplies?”

She  _ wasn’t  _ one of the good ones, but she wasn’t one of the  _ bad  _ ones, either, so Keith wasn’t complaining. The Thompsons didn’t have a lot of money, so they were mostly in the foster business for the check. They didn’t necessarily actually  _ care _ . But - so far, at least - they hadn’t hit him, or gone crazy with punishments. They were just sort of...there. And he could deal with that. 

Abby smiled brightly. “Those are certainly good ideas.” She tried to make eye contact with Keith, even though she should have known by then that eye contact was not a thing he did if he could help it. “But don’t be afraid to ask for something you really  _ want _ , instead. It’s a Christmas wish! You’re allowed to be a kid at Christmas.”

Keith’s scowl deepened. He hadn’t been a  _ kid  _ in many, many years. “Why would some random stranger want to buy a teenage boy they’ve never met a Christmas present?”

“Oh, these trees are very popular. I’ve worked with the charity many times in the past, and I’ve never had a child whose ornament didn’t get picked.” 

Which didn’t really answer his question, but okay. He had a feeling it was mostly younger kids that people wanted to buy for, just like it was younger kids that people wanted to adopt and foster. But he wasn’t going to keep pushing.

“What about new shoes?” Gina put in again, still pushing for the pragmatic approach. Probably because she didn’t want to have to buy him new ones herself when his toe finally busted through the threadbare end. And yeah, it was a good thought. The shoes  _ were  _ pathetic, and more than one idiot kid at his school had made fun of him for them. 

But they were mostly rich kids. They’d make fun of him no matter what kind of shoes he was wearing, because they and the rest of his clothes wouldn’t be name brand. 

Unless…

“Jordans.” The word was out his mouth before he could stop it. 

Abby looked mildly surprised, but never stopped smiling. “Oh, you’d like some Jordans? Those are nice.”

He’d never really thought about wanting them, honestly. Sure, they were nice looking shoes. But he’d always known they were out of his reach, and besides, fashion had never meant that much to him. He really wasn’t even sure what had made him blurt it out now, and he suddenly felt shy about his choice, shrinking further down into the couch.

“Um, I mean...it’s...just a thought.”

Gina sputtered. “ _ Jordans?  _ Aren’t those like, a hundred dollars or more? What a waste of money! You could get perfectly good shoes for a quarter of that price. If you think someone’s going to be able to spend that much money on you, then you could ask for more practical shoes  _ and  _ clothes!”

He didn’t know why he even opened his stupid mouth. He should have just told Abby he didn’t want anything, or agreed with Gina from the start to save himself from hearing her whine. 

For once, he had just wanted to have something that other kids had. To feel  _ normal _ , even if it wouldn’t have actually changed anything. They still would have made fun of him for his clothes, his backpack, his eyes, his hair, his social ineptitude, and anything else they could come up with. 

He just wanted to own something  _ nice _ , for once. Apparently that was too much to ask.

“Whatever,” he mumbled. “Just some shoes, then. Doesn’t matter what kind.”

Abby was staring at him, he could feel it. “It’s up to you, of course, but personally, I think you should ask for the Jordans if you really want them. This ornament will be going on a tree in the more affluent part of town, so...while it is possible that a more expensive wish like this could get skipped over, it’s also very possible that someone could pick it.” 

He could hear Gina still huffing, but she thankfully didn’t say anything else out loud. He didn’t know what to say, himself. It was true, a frivolous, expensive gift like that might not be picked. But so what? Either he’d get the shoes, and finally have something that all his peers had, or he wouldn’t, and he’d be in the exact same place he was now. 

Raising his shoulders up to his ears, he murmured, “I like the red and black ones.”

Gina groaned, and Abby’s smile grew. “Ooh, good choice.” Her pen flew over the paper ornament, scribbling out his wish. Keith could just barely make out the scripty letter J, and he felt something dangerous rise up in his chest.  _ Hope. Excitement. _

He squashed it immediately. He had no room for those things in his life.

.

Over the next few weeks, Keith mostly managed to forget about the paper ornament and the wish. Every once in a while, a pair of red and black Jordans would catch his eye at school, and there would be an automatic rush of either hope, which he’d have to crush all over again, or disgust with himself for hoping, for even asking for them to start with. 

Then he got home from school one day and Gina handed him the phone.

“Hey Keith!” Abby’s cheerful voice came through the speaker. “I have some great news! Somebody picked your ornament off the tree. You’re getting your wish for Christmas!”

“Wh-...what?”

Honestly he didn’t hear anything she said after that. He didn’t even know what  _ he  _ said. Somebody had picked his wish. Somebody, some random stranger, had seen that a teenage foster kid wanted a pair of Jordans, and decided to spend their own money to buy them for him. 

It didn’t make sense. Nothing in his six years of being in the foster system had proved to him that there were people out there who would do such a thing. 

But someone had. And he was getting Jordans for Christmas.

Despite himself, Keith walked a little lighter for the rest of the week. He purposely sought out the red and black Jordans on the feet of his classmates just so that he could stare at them and think, _that’s going to be me soon._ It was stupid. It was just a pair of shoes. But somehow, it meant so much _more_.

Christmas Eve came. The Thompsons didn’t have a tree, or stockings, or much in the way of decorations at all. He was okay with that, though. Better to not even pretend you’re going to celebrate, than to make a big deal out of the holiday and then refuse to give your foster child any gifts. 

School was on break, so Keith was sitting in his room sketching when the doorbell rang mid-morning. “Keith!” Gina’s voice echoed down the hall. “Abby’s here!”

Immediately he was on his feet and throwing his door open. The excitement that thrummed in his body was something he hadn’t allowed himself in so long, but he had actually gotten a little bit used to the foreign feeling over the past week. So what if he had let the Christmas spirit actually get to him for once? He was getting a present. An actual, for real, something he wanted and had asked for, Christmas present. 

Abby was standing in the middle of the living room, brightly wrapped package in hand. He stopped short when he saw her, his excitement flickering uncertainly. The smile on her face was...forced. Fake. Not anything like a normal Abby smile. It was the smile that she had given him when she had come to pick him up from his last foster home, after they had unexpectedly kicked him out for being “anti-social”.

His first thought, causing his heart to plummet down to his toes, was that it was happening again. The Thompsons were kicking him out, on Christmas Eve of all things, for who knows what reason, since he had tried his best to behave since he had been there. Sure, he was still anti-social, but so were they, so he didn’t think they would have cared. 

But when he glanced down at the package again, noticing the flat, rectangular shape of it, another thought formed in his mind.  _ That doesn’t look like Jordans.  _ Maybe...maybe it was a gift card. Maybe they were worried they’d pick out the wrong size or style, so they’d decided to let him get them himself.

Or maybe this wasn’t the gift from the angel ornament at all. Maybe it was from Abby, and her smile was just off because for some reason the Jordans hadn’t arrived yet and she had to break the news to him.

“Merry Christmas, Keith!” Her voice was just as off as her smile, too subdued to be genuine. But her hand was steady as she held out the gift, and after glancing warily between it and her for longer than was polite, he stepped forward and took it. 

It weighed more than it looked like. It wasn’t a gift card. But it still wasn’t Jordans.

“Well, go on and open it,” Gina ushered from somewhere on the other side of the room.

So he did. Contrary to what most people thought, he wasn’t purposely a rude person. He wasn’t going to just leave Abby standing there forever. So he tore into the garish red and green paper, revealing a box with an artsy picture of Santa Claus on the lid. For a second longer he hesitated, not quite ready to pull open the box and have reality slap him in the face.

He took a breath, tried one last time to squelch any shreds of hope that remained, and flipped the box lid off onto the floor.

A package of underwear was on top. 

Shifting it over, his mind going blank, he saw a package of socks, also, the ankle cut kind that he hated. Underneath all of that appeared to be a plain red t-shirt.

Somewhere, Gina was prattling on about how that was a  _ much  _ more practical gift,  _ much _ better than some ridiculously expensive shoes.

Sure. Practical. Socks and underwear, the two things that he actually got on a fairly regular basis that  _ weren’t  _ secondhand. All his shirts were hand-me-downs, yes, so he supposed having a brand new one for once was nice. He fumbled for a second with the collar and checked the label. Walmart brand. Boy, he’d sure show those rich kids now.

“I’m sorry, Keith.” Abby’s voice was suddenly much closer, and had dropped down to a whisper. “I had a feeling when I saw the box, but...I’m sorry. I really wanted you to get those Jordans.”

He allowed himself another moment of numbness before pulling down his mask of indifference with practiced ease. “It’s whatever.” He shrugged, bending down to pick up the box lid and the shreds of wrapping paper so he wouldn’t get in trouble for a mess. “She’s right, this is more practical. The shoes -” he couldn’t actually bring himself to say the name of them -“were way too expensive and I’d just outgrow them in a year or two.”

“Keith-”

“Thanks, Abby.” He turned, heading back to his room with the box of socks and underwear tucked under his arm. 

“Merry Christmas, Keith,” Abby repeated quietly, her voice following him down the hall.

.

**Ten Years Later**

Lance bopped along through the automatic doors of the department store, singing under his breath to the music playing overhead. Sighing, Keith rolled his eyes fondly. Only Lance McClain could still be into “All I Want for Christmas is You” this late in the season. 

“So, what is it we’re here for? Your mom, and...Luís?”

“And Lisa,” Lance groaned. “Those three are  _ the hardest  _ to shop for. Especially Lisa.”

He continued talking, something about Lisa buying things for herself and Luís wanting things that were too expensive, but Keith’s attention had been stolen by a large Christmas tree near the cash register. It was tastefully decorated with white lights, gold ribbon, and a golden star on top, but it was the ornaments that made him nearly stop breathing. Paper angels. If he walked closer, he knew he’d see words scrawled across them in various scripts and pen colors.

“Hey, Mullet?” The nickname had not died, despite the fact that his hair had grown past his shoulders and was normally kept in a low ponytail. “You in there?”

Snapping back to the present, Keith blinked in Lance’s direction. “Hm? Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Instead of heading off in search of gifts, though, he turned back to the tree and began walking slowly toward it, as if drawn by some invisible force. 

“Oh, it’s one of those trees!” Lance exclaimed, catching onto where Keith was headed and skipping in front of him. “It’s the first one I’ve seen since the war ended. My parents used to do one of these every year!”

At one point, the fact that his friend’s family had been one of the anonymous benefactors to foster kids like himself would have bothered him. Would have made him feel small and “less-than”, would probably have made him lash out with some angry comment. Now he just smiled a little, because he knew whichever fortunate kids had gotten their ornaments picked by the McClain family had gotten awesome gifts.

Just like Lance at one point probably would have taken the opportunity, had he known, to rub this fact in Keith’s face, where now he would probably immediately feel bad and apologize for any accidental insult.

The war had changed all of them, and not all of it was for the worse.

“I should pick one myself this year.” Lance moved around the tree with the same amount of energy that he did everything else, ducking one moment, standing on tiptoe the next, looking as if he was in a race to see every single ornament. “I always wanted to do one myself, growing up. It always looked like so much fun to pick out. There’s so many possibilities, though! I wanna do them all but I can’t afford it!”

Keith circled the tree slowly, letting his eyes linger on each angel before moving to the next one. He was right, there  _ were  _ so many. He hadn’t ever seen one in person when he was a kid, so he had no point of reference for the number of ornaments, but he wondered how many of these kids had been displaced and orphaned by the invasion. A sliver of guilt made its way into his gut, as it often did when he thought about Sendak’s rule of Earth. But he pushed it gently away, and focused on his mission.

He didn’t want any of the little kids. There were plenty of them, more than any other age, but he also knew there’d be plenty of people to choose them. If not this year, then the next. 

He skipped over the older girls, as well, that were asking for school supplies or cute things like makeup or art stuff. People loved buying that kind of stuff.

For half the circumference of the tree, he didn’t find what he was looking for. Then he spotted it, right at eye level, illuminated by a white light that jutted out in front of it.

_ Male, 16 _

_ Nike Holsters, size 10 _

_ Prefers black _

Jordans weren’t the thing anymore, they had gone out sometime while he was at the Garrison. Holsters were the new thing to have, from what he had heard. This boy, whoever he was, may have been two years older than Keith had been during that fateful Christmas, but in Keith’s mind, they were the same. In that instant, staring at that paper angel, he was taken straight back to the Thompsons couch, feeling that little flutter in his chest while his social worker wrote down his wish. This boy had probably felt the same way. And more than anything, he didn’t want him to have to feel the same when his package arrived on Christmas Eve.

“Aaah, okay. I have to get this one. There are like, a ton that I want, but this one’s jumping out and grabbing me.” Lance plucked an ornament off the lower part of the tree and waved it at Keith. “See, he wants the same exact toy that I already bought Silvio. That awesome racetrack thing? I’m super excited to see Silvio’s face when he opens it. Now I can imagine that same face on another kid, too.”

Keith smiled, overwhelmingly glad that Lance hadn’t just gone with the easiest or cheapest option. He’d picked one that meant something to him, and he was planning on doing right by this kid. “That’s perfect. He’ll love it.”

Turning back to the sixteen year old’s ornament, he took a deep breath, then lifted it slowly, almost reverently, from the branch. He was gonna do it. He was gonna make sure that this teenager got his wish for Christmas.

“Ooh, are you getting one, too? Whatcha got?” Lance popped his head up over Keith’s shoulder before he could even blink, reading the blue ink. Automatically he tensed up, waiting for some kind of judgment.

“ _ Holsters?  _ Wow, dude, can you afford those?”

He relaxed just slightly. It was an honest question, and it wasn’t against the kid for his wish. Yet. “Yeah. The Blade pays me pretty well, and I don’t spend most of it.”

“Yeah, cuz you’ve been wearing the same Earth clothes since we got back and you mooch all your food off of the rest of us.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith elbowed him in the ribs, making him back off. “I’m only on Earth once every few months, so it’s not like they’re worn out. And I’ve tried staying at my own place and feeding myself. None of you guys will let me.”

Lance laughed brightly. “Yeah. I know. So...Holsters, huh. Any particular reason you picked that one?”

Looking back down at the delicate paper in his hand, he smiled softly. “Yeah. It’s kind of a long story, though. Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

Ornaments in hand, they headed off into the main part of the store to do their shopping. Lance managed to find something for the remaining three people on his list, plus the racetrack for his kid, and Keith diligently perused the Holsters until he found a snazzy looking, all-black pair in a size ten. The happiness that had started bubbling up in him ever since he had found the ornament boiled over, and he couldn’t stop smiling as he tucked the shoebox underneath his arm and headed back to the front register.

“Wow,” the cashier droned as she scanned Keith’s ornament. “I really didn’t think anyone would get this one.” She peered over her glasses at the shoes, then up at Keith, then back at the shoes. “Seems like an awful lot of money to spend on some punk kid who’s already getting government handouts.”

The happiness flipped abruptly to anger. This,  _ this  _ was the kind of person who had picked up his ornament all those years ago and decided to buy him socks and underwear. This was the kind of person that half his foster parents had been, who thought that foster kids were just brats who needed to be taught their place. 

But before he could unleash the dark storm inside of him, Lance shouldered his way up to the register. “First of all, how do you know he’s a punk? I can’t imagine you’ve met him before. Second, you’re saying that because this guy doesn’t have parents, he doesn’t deserve to own cool things? To be a kid, to look nice, to fit in at school? The world has been cruel enough to him already. Personally, I think that means he deserves all the love we can throw at him.”

The cashier snapped her mouth shut after that and rang up the shoes without speaking other than what she was required to say. Keith, silently grateful to Lance for keeping him from reacting and also for shutting the woman up, snatched up his bag and left without a word to her, either.

Lance, on the other hand, gathered his three bags and threw her a cheerful smile and a, “Merry Christmas!” before exiting.

Out in the parking lot, Keith nudged him in the arm. “Thanks for saying something.”

Lance pulled a face. “I can’t stand people like that. Plus, you looked like you were getting ready to stab her.”

Keith snorted, but didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled the shoebox out of its bag and tipped open the lid just enough that he could admire the contents one more time. The happiness bubbled up again.

A low whistle sounded beside him, and he glanced over to see Lance giving him a smile that hinted he knew more than he was letting on. It wouldn’t be a surprise. Lance always had been perceptive about what other people weren’t saying, at least once he gave up their “rivalry” for good. 

“I tell you what, that’s gonna be one happy kid on Christmas.”

The corner of Keith’s mouth quirked up. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I hope so.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you sponsor a child this Christmas, don’t be Keith’s sponsors or the cashier. Be a Keith. Be an Abby. Be a Lance.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments mean the world to me, so I hope you’ll take a moment to let me know what you thought, whether it’s one word, multiple paragraphs, or just emojis haha. I always answer my comments!
> 
> You can also come yell at me on Tumblr, my username is the same there, actress4Him.
> 
> Or buy me a coffee! https://www.buymeacoffee.com/actress4Him
> 
> Merry Christmas and happy holidays!


End file.
